15: Kennedy

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When I wake up the next morning, it's not because my neck is cramping so bad I think I might die, and it's not because my feet are sticking out of my blanket and at risk of Annabelle biting off my toes, it's because of the scrape of a knife on a plate.

I really hate that sound.

I'm still on the couch, with my head leaning awkwardly over the back and my legs curled up under me. I can already feel how stiff I am.

Sam is still passed out in the recliner, black hair all over the place and mouth hanging open. Judging by how dry my mouth is, I must have had mine hanging open too. I hope no one saw that.

But because I have the worlds worst luck, when I look to my left, Greyson's sprawled out in the couch beside me, staring at me over the top of a book. My book, Dance of Thieves. That little bitch.

"That's my book."

"I assumed." He says it like I should have known, but the jokes on him because I did know, I just wanted him to confirm it so I can beat him over the head with hit.

My thoughts are sidetracked when it sounds like a bombs gone off in my kitchen. I finally look over Greyson's shoulder, only to see Sanders and my sister, both with scowls on their faces, arguing. I've never seen Sanders argue.

"Would you stop smacking the fucking pans around!" Sarah sounds about as good as she looks. Her makeup from the night before is smudged under her eyes and her blonde hair, that she had in a messy bun last night, is half down, half still in the bun.

"You're the one who just dropped the pan in the sink!"

"BECAUSE YOU SCRAPED YOUR KNIFE ON YOUR PLATE!" I can't remember the last time I've seen Sarah this mad.

Greyson's been watching the whole thing with the closest thing to a smirk I've ever seen. Where is Greyson Kingsley??

"How long have they been like this?" I ask him. I don't know how they don't get along, they only met last night and I was positive they'd become friends.

"An hour."

"You've been up for an hour?" I don't know why it surprises me so much, I just thought he would have left right when Sanders was up. Something in the back of my head is bothering me, and then it hits me. 

"GREYSON YOUR DOGS! You have to go! They probably have to pee or poo and they haven't been fed! YOU'RE NEGLECTING THEM!!"

In response, he gives me an unimpressed look. Why is he annoyed? He's the one starving his dogs.

"Seriously, go! I can take Sanders home. Your being mean to your dogs."

"You think I forgot about my dogs?" The way he says it has me pausing and I take a second to think about it. He's always rushing home to check on them during the day or just getting back from walking them every time I see him. And Sanders told me he's pretty sure Greyson loves his dogs more than he loves him.

"Um... did you leave and come back?" Maybe he got up really early this morning.

"No, Kennedy. I did not leave and then come back. My sisters looking after them, she stayed at my place last night."



"Does your family live in Seattle?" I'd that considered prying? Oh well.

"Outside. She—"

"Can you all shut the fuck up? Some people need their beauty sleep." I guess we woke Sam up.

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